


To Be Loved As We Are

by Murf1307



Series: Roommates 'Verse [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fever, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gets back from class to find that Grantaire is sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Loved As We Are

**Author's Note:**

> part of the 'Roommates' 'verse, and the premise is this: through the vagaries of university housing systems, enjolras winds up with grantaire as a roommate their freshman year. over the course of the year they go from hardly speaking, to desperately in love with each other but not really able to say anything about it. this fic takes place three weeks before the end of the spring semester.

Enjolras slid his key into the door, already smelling paint even from outside the room. He decided he would slip in, grab one of his textbooks, and leave Grantaire to whatever painting furor he was undoubtedly in, if he was painting in their room.

Except, Grantaire wasn’t painting when he pushed open the door. He was leaning against one of the dressers, brush hanging limply from his fingers as he pulled a hand through his hair. He looked awful, shiny with sweat and paler than Enjolras had ever seen him. His eyes were glassy when he looked at Enjolras.

“Oh, hi,” he said tiredly, waving his free hand. “Just, ah, working on the portfolio.”

“You look like hell,” Enjolras replied bluntly. “Come here.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, I’m fine, just a headache, I’ll be fine.” He put down his brush and took the canvas off the easel — this one was surrealist, and Enjolras wasn’t sure what it was — and set it aside. He stumbled a little on the way to open the window, trying to air out the room.

“Come here, Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated. A little knot tied up his insides.

Grantaire came, and Enjolras put a steadying hand on his shoulder before reaching up to press the back of his hand against Grantaire’s forehead. He was burning up.

“You have an obvious fever, Grantaire.” Enjolras clucked in disapproval. “Why are you trying to paint when you’re sick?”

“Thought it would distract me,” Grantaire grumbled.

Enjolras laughed a little. “You’re definitely ill — you’re pouting.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, you’re going to bed until that fever breaks, and then I’m calling Combeferre and Joly to come look at you.” Enjolras steered Grantaire back to his bed, pushing aside the easel and pulling the sheets of newspaper out of the way before sitting Grantaire down on the bed.

Grantaire fought him only a little. “I’m fine, stop fussing.”

“Concerned, not fussing,” Enjolras replied, pressing his hand against Grantaire’s forehead again just to be sure. “Finals are three weeks out, and I know how you get when you feel like you have to rush a piece.”

“‘S why I was working, Enjolras.”

Enjolras shook his head, pressing Grantaire down into a horizontal position. “You’ll work yourself into a frenzy and then you’re going to make yourself even more ill, and then you’ll wind up laid out for a week and Joly will have an absolute fit.”

Grantaire groaned. “Can’t miss a week, I’d be fucked.”

“Then you’re going to go to sleep, and we’ll wait for your fever to break.” Enjolras smiled, a little triumphant. He squeezed Grantaire’s shoulder, fingers getting caught in his hair, and pulled back.

“‘m cold,” Grantaire grumbled petulantly. Enjolras sighed, fondly exasperated, and pulled Grantaire’s covers over him. Grantaire sighed back and shifted. “Still cold.”

Enjolras smirked despite himself. “Then move over.”

Grantaire blinked, confused, as Enjolras put down his messenger bag, but moved over toward the wall anyway.

Enjolras sat down on the bed and then laid down next to Grantaire, pressing his back against Grantaire’s chest and taking out his phone. Four unread texts, but he’d deal with them once Grantaire was properly asleep.

“I’ll get you sick,” Grantaire complained.

“We occupy the same tiny dorm room. If you’re this sick, I’ve probably already been exposed,” Enjolras argued. “At least now you’re warm, right?”

Grantaire made a soft, frustrated noise. “It’s a little better.”

“Good,” Enjolras said, smiling. “Now go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Grantaire murmured, and slipped an arm around Enjolras’s waist to pull him a little closer.

Enjolras blushed a little, doing his best not to fidget. Grantaire was sick, after all. He looked down at his phone again, this time to actually read his messages.

 **Combeferre:**  Meeting tonight.

 **Jehan:** Should I bring cupcakes or cookies to the meeting tonight?   
 **Jehan:**  Never mind, I’m making brownies with Cosette; we’ll bring those.

 **Bahorel:** Can’t come to the meeting, Feuilly got me sick.

Another message pinged into being.

 **Feuilly:** I did not get Bahorel sick, whatever he said, he got me sick. That fucking virus going around. We’re both fucking puking our guts up.

Enjolras chuckled and sent out a mass text to the group:

 **Enjolras:**  Grantaire’s sick; I’m staying in to look after him. Meeting not cancelled, C&C can handle one meeting without me, I’m sure.

Then he turned his phone off and tucked it back in his pocket. He had homework, but none of it was due for a few days yet; he could afford to just lay here for a while, just listening to the sound of Grantaire’s breathing, feel him behind him like a space heater from the fever.

And if he fell asleep for a while, who could blame him?

—————————————

Grantaire woke up at around three in the morning, the fever breaking very suddenly. He was plastered to Enjolras’s back, and it took him a moment to remember why.

He flushed bright red and pulled away a little, growing even more embarrassed when he realized that he’d sweat through his shirt and Enjolras’s — the shirts stuck together when he tried to pull away.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

Enjolras stirred, turning toward him a little. “You’re awake,” he mumbled, reaching back to grope for Grantaire’s forehead. “And you’ve cooled off.”

“Sleepy?” Grantaire asked, taking Enjolras’s hand off his face.

Enjolras chuckled. “Maybe.”

Grantaire realized then that Enjolras had been there the entire night through. He tried to sit up, struggling a bit with the way his legs and Enjolras’s were tangled in the blankets. “How long have you been sleeping?”

“Since about nine thirty last night? I took a nap in the afternoon, then fielded emails from my phone for a few hours.” Enjolras turned over onto his stomach, lolling his chin on Grantaire’s thigh. That, if nothing else, made it clear he was still half-asleep. “The others are worried about you, and Feuilly and Bahorel have a different virus than you do, but they’re sick, too.”

Grantaire did his best to process all of that, one hand coming down to smooth Enjolras’s bedhead. “You skipped the meeting.”

“You were sick. Someone had to look after you.” Enjolras pushed his head against Grantaire’s hand like a cat. “Since apparently Bad Things Happen when you three go out alone.”

“Don’t pin this one on Feuilly and Bahorel, we just went to the bar, we didn’t even get into a fight this time.” Grantaire laughed a little.

“The three of you are all sick now.” Enjolras sounded disapproving, but there was a teasing light in his eyes that squeezed Grantaire’s chest. “But I am glad you didn’t come home with a black eye this time, okay?”

Grantaire smiled. “You’re sweet when you’re half asleep.”

“Shush, you, and get back down here. It’s three a.m., we’ll call Joly and Combeferre in the morning.” Enjolras tugged at Grantaire’s shirt. “Sleep.”

Grantaire couldn’t stifle the feeling of tenderness that ran through him then, and no more could he say no to a few more hours this close to Enjolras, and he slid back down. Enjolras was already almost all the way back under, but he curled in a little closer against Grantaire’s chest, forehead nestling against the side of Grantaire’s neck.

With that, they both fell back to sleep ‘til morning.

And if it was awkward to wake up that way the next day, neither of them said so.


End file.
